Tenderest Touch Leaves the Darkest of Marks
by Scribbler17
Summary: My take on Iris dealing with Barry's return and his altered mental status. Story is in four parts. Contains bits and tidbits from The Flash Season 4 Extended Promo.
1. Chapter 1

If you asked Iris West to pinpoint the worst events of her life, she could produce an entire list, ranked and numbered from less painful to more. All the incidents that made the cut were grievous, it was just a matter of how relatively afflictive they were. Her heart seemed to break a little more with each successive tragedy until it finally shattered.

 _Difficult: Her mother's death._

 _Distressing: Barry's coma._

 _Harrowing: Eddie's suicide._

 _Agonizing: Barry's combustion._

 _Frightening: Wally's disappearance._

 _Traumatic: Her potential murder._

 _Unbearable: Another day without Barry._

At least she had already been accustomed to a mother-less life. At least Barry's body was concretely visible when he was comatose. At least Eddie's death was immediate and certain. At least Wally and Barry were detectable when they each ventured into the Speed Force for the first time. At least her death meant she was leaving her loved ones behind and not the opposite, because she didn't know if she could tolerate the opposite.

She can't. The present confirmed that.

This time, Barry was more than her best friend. This time, he was the man she was to commit herself to and create a life with. And this time, he really wasn't coming back.

 _Like all runners, he's reached his finish line,_ Nora Allen had said. No manifestation of the Speed Force had ever proclaimed such a statement of finality.

Perhaps what made the situation even more taxing wasn't its irrevocability, but its ambiguity. She didn't know if Barry was dead or alive, only that he wasn't with her. His message to her, what he made her promise him certainly gave the impression that he was never returning, but that didn't give Iris closure. While closure about his mortality would grant her some peace of mind, she only wanted that closure if it meant that Barry was still living. She couldn't bear it if he were deceased. Even if he could never come home to her again, the knowledge that he existed somewhere, anywhere, would be enough.

Which is why she's been arguing with Cisco often. He evidently also wants closure on the status of his friend, which Iris can't fault him for. Where Cisco varies from her is his conviction that Barry is alive, so much that he wants to scout him out, which is exactly what Iris dreads. A search for Barry might confirm her worst horror: his death. She always prided herself on being someone who took risks, who advocated for truth, no matter how brutal it might be, except when it came to Barry. She would rather live in ignorance than live with the unimaginable.

She didn't know how she was possibly going to explain that to Cisco in the midst of a heated row at STAR Labs, so she had excused herself before things escalated, really before she broke down in tears. Her voice had already started to give her away.

Her father hadn't been much help later that night either. His desire for closure was also different: he suggested they grieve Barry as though he had passed away. Iris had disputed that they had nothing to bury, but only because she feared acting as though Barry was dead might really prompt his death, like some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. She knows that's bizarre, but that cognizance doesn't do anything to suppress her fear.

Iris understands why her dad would make such a proposal. They've already had to bend the truth about Barry's disappearance anyway. Anyone who was aware of his identity as The Flash knew where he really was, but obviously a good number of individuals had no knowledge of Barry's double life and had to be fed an explanation.

As of May, Barry was officially deemed missing by the police. They spread a consistent tale about how they lost him during the chaos of the lightning storm, which wasn't really difficult to do. The Wests and Barry's friends and colleagues were already mourning his absence anyway. The only challenge Iris supposes is that she had to pretend like she didn't know where Barry was and act hopeful he might mysteriously turn up. Everyone at work treated her as though she were a widow, and really, Iris didn't mind. She might as well have been one.

Explaining The Flash's absence was easier. All it took was a published piece that Central City's hero had collectively rescued all citizens from that phenomenal lightning storm by running into it and stabilizing it.

Turns out it's easier to tell the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

Iris storms out of STAR Labs, furiously typing CCPN's address into her Uber app. Her feud with Cisco was getting out of hand: this is the fifth time in two weeks that she's walked out on a debate with him regarding searching for Barry.

Today's fight was particularly vicious. Cisco presented a preposition to the team that they attempt to find Barry because he and Wally could barely manage to protect the city streets on their own. Iris knew that was only part of why Cisco wanted Barry back. She can tell Barry's absence has taken an emotional toll on him too. Like her, he's had a difficult year with Dante's death and the risk of Caitlin's betrayal. If there was a possibility he could bring one of his dearest friends back, Cisco would do it in a heartbeat.

But Iris had to look out for herself before she looked out for Cisco, and looking out for herself meant refusing to explore the chance that Barry was no longer alive. She didn't divulge that to the team though when explaining her rebuttal. Instead she reminded them that Barry wanted them to move forward, and that they should honor Barry's wish, considering he sacrificed himself for their safety.

Cisco refused to back down this time however, and seemed to finally snap after weeks of Iris shutting him down.

"What is your deal?" he had shouted at her. "It's like you don't even want him back!"

He had gone too far, everyone in the room knew it too, judging by Wally's "Cisco!" and the raise of Joe's eyebrows. At first she thought it better to not even dignify that with a response, but she was too indignant not to retaliate.

"I think maybe I hold more authority over you on a decision like this," she declares coolly. "I was Barry's family long before he knew you, and I'm still Barry's family now."

She knows it's a selfish thing to say, but Cisco's accusation was such an insult she couldn't ignore it. To suggest that she didn't want the man she loved more than anything back safely in her arms? The man she was engaged to marry? The man she was ready to share all of herself with? Did he know that she couldn't even bring herself to sleep on the sheets they made love in for the last time? That she cried herself to sleep on more evenings than she didn't? That on some nights, when the pain was too insufferable, she would kneel by the window, stare up into the sky foolishly, and actually beg Barry to come back? Just last night had been one of those intolerable nights.

She's fuming all the way on the ride to CCPN and hopes no one crosses her at work, or even asks how she's doing sympathetically like they've done routinely for the last six months. She just doesn't want the reminder that she's lonely and Barry's gone right now.

The newsroom is busier than typical today, which she's grateful for. No one says anything to her as she makes her way to her desk, slowly unpacks her belongings. Her phone rings, but when she sees that it's her dad, she sends the call to voicemail. She doesn't need a lecture right now.

"West!" Scott calls out to her before pacing over to her desk.

She groans internally, but otherwise doesn't give any indication that she's less-than-thrilled to see her boss. It was common Picture News knowledge that Scott favored Iris, and his bias is completely outside of him asking her out last year. He, and everyone else for that matter, is well aware that Iris's articles receive the most hits, the best feedback, and sometimes generate the greatest controversy out of the work of all the senior reporters. While Iris is proud of that reputation, it also meant that Scott wanted to exploit her esteem as much as possible, even if it was to give her a dull assignment.

He was absurdly competitive too when it came to being the first to report something before other news outlets, no matter how minuscule it might be. Iris always felt like quality and accuracy should take precedence over how quickly a story was published, but clearly, Scott didn't prioritize the same things.

"The Gazette's on fire today, we have to catch up!" he pushes.

"Hello to you too," Iris mutters under her breath. Her phone sounds again and she silences it, turning it face-down.

"I want you to look into those protests Central City County Hospital organized," Scott instructs. "About the blow to the birth control mandate. They reached out to us for press coverage."

"Alright, I'm on it," she grumbles, not really feeling up to any work today.

After rambling about how the general pace of the newsroom has been slacking lately (a rant she had to endure so regularly, it might as well be in her job description), Scott finally leaves. Iris sighs, supposing it's better to throw herself into a task to take her mind off what happened at STAR Labs earlier. She picks up her phone again and opens her newsfeed to obtain the exact text of the new rule of the Department of Health and Human Services. She peruses through several headlines: _CCU vs UM Basketball Game Goes to Nine Overtimes, Kid Flash Clashes with Gun Wielding Meta, Naked Man Found Wandering Highway Near Central City Remote Countryside, Pedestrian Struck by Metra Train in Petersburg Dies, The Reviews for the Latest iPhone Are In: Here's Our Verdict._

Her phone rings a third time: her father sure was persistent. She huffs and swipes right to answer.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said earlier-" she starts.

"Iris," her father interrupts, a sense of urgency to his tone. "I just got off the phone with Cecile. It's Barry."

"What?" She shakes her head frustratedly even though he can't see her. She's had enough dramatics for the day. "What's Barry-what are you even talking about?"

"Two truckers reported a naked man on the the expressway…it's Barry. He's Barry."

She drops her phone and hardly registers when it hits the floor with a clatter.

There's no way…could her desperate supplication last night have been answered somehow? Was there a God listening to her out there somewhere? Or was it Barry who had heard her, deep into the pit of the Speed Force, wherever that was, wherever he was.

She snaps out of her bewilderment enough to scrape her phone off the ground and frantically scroll back up through the feed she was browsing before her dad's phone call until she locates the particular headline in question:

 _Naked Man Found Wandering Highway Near Central City Remote Countryside_

 _A man was found wandering the I-53 expressway nude early Thursday morning, Central City Gazette reports._

 _Two out-of-state truck drivers reported nearly colliding with the man who seemed to appear out of nowhere._

 _"One second the road was clear and the next-this tall dude was standing right in front of us, staring us down," one driver alleged._

 _"I slammed on the breaks…I still can't believe I didn't hit him. Jesus Christ, he scared me."_

 _"Once we recovered from the initial shock of it all we saw that he was totally naked. No underwear, nothin'," the second driver narrated._

 _The drivers contacted local police after attempting to ask the man if he required any assistance._

 _"He stared off into the distance, as if we didn't exist really. Refused to answer any of our questions, so we called 9-11."_

 _"Seems like he's been through something crazy, to be acting like that. Maybe homeless. Who knows? Poor fella."_

 _The man was turned over to police and remains in their custody. Investigators urge anyone with any relevant information to come forward._

 _Update, 2:43 PM Central Time: The man in question has been identified by the Central City Police Department as twenty-eight-year-old Bartholomew Henry Allen, former CCPD Employee, Forensics Department. Allen had previously been classified as a missing person as of May 2017._

Iris stares at her phone screen in disbelief, unable to process the words she had just read.

 _Seemed to appear our of nowhere…totally naked…just stared off into the distance…like he's been through something crazy…_

It was all cause for concern, yet the final line… _Bartholomew Henry Allen._

The only thing she was concerned about was confirming that her Bear was safe and sound, back home in her arms again. She needed to see it for herself before she would believe it, no matter what the Gazette printed, no matter what her father told her.

She leaves her work station as is, doesn't even bother putting away her belongings, doesn't even bother calling her dad back or telling Scott she's leaving before she's out the door, rushing toward the precinct, her heart thudding in her chest for reasons entirely besides her running pace.


	3. Chapter 3

Her dad sees her the moment she dashes in.

"Why haven't you been picking up your phone-"

"Where is he?" She doesn't have time or mental capacity for anything other than Barry right now. She barely notices that Cisco, Caitlin, and Wally are also there, and can't even wonder how they made it to the station before her or feel offended if they happened to be told about Barry sooner than she was.

"Iris," Joe starts. "Take a breath."

 _"Where is he?"_ she demands a second time, feeling tears build in her eyes from the sheer monument of emotion overtaking her, from the magnitude of the occasion. She feels like she's imagined this moment dozens of times and how she might be feeling, but her imagination never came close to the power of her state of mind now. "Did you see him? Is he okay? Is it really him?" More tears well with each inquiry she hurls until they finally spill.

She thinks she doesn't want the hug he engulfs her with, but it's comforting to be able to sob into his shoulder, harder than she has in a while, as hard as she did her first week without Barry. It seems poetic to come full circle, but she's glad she's crying here for entirely different reasons.

"I haven't seen him yet. None of us have. We all agreed not to until you got here." Iris pulls away to see Cisco nod in agreement. Her earlier anger toward him dissipates, and she feels better about her almost-irritation that they all got here before her.

"Cecile is with him now, probably 'interrogating' him so that things don't look suspicious to the other cops. No doubt they're trying to come up with some story they can feed the press about where he was all these months."

Iris feels herself relaxing at these words. Barry is behind those doors. He's a few feet away from her. In just a few moments, she's going to see him again, to touch him again…

She lets out a small laugh through her tears at the realization, and Joe pulls her close to him one more time.

"It's going to be okay, Baby Girl," her father murmurs into her hair. "It's going to be okay."

They're seated in the waiting area for what feels like hours, until Cecile finally appears. Immediately, Iris stands.

"I want to see him," she declares, figuring it's better to be insistent instead of ask and risk getting declined. She doesn't want to give anyone the opportunity to deprive her of seeing Barry. She doesn't even want to ask if he's okay or not or if it's really him anymore like she had before, doesn't want to open that door of possibility. She'll decide that for herself, she's his fiancée after all. She understands police protocols, but it's been enough time. It's been six months.

She doesn't know why she was bracing herself for a possible no, because it doesn't come. What does come is a sympathetic look across Cecile's features and something else completely unexpected, a warning: "You need to prepare yourself."

What to make of that, Iris has no idea. Slight alarm rises in her but the open door that Cecile leads her into vanquishes all of that.

She races in, not caring or tracking if anyone follows her, or of whatever it was she needed to brace herself for.

The lights are off, but the afternoon sun peeks through the tilted blinds. The room's temperature resembles a musty warmth. The air is heavy with dust and something else.

A thin, bearded man sits on a rollaway cot in corner of the room. His back is aligned with the wall he leans against, his legs stretched out in front of him, too long for the mattress he sits atop.

"Barry," she breathes. Her heart races in a familiar way it hasn't done so in six months, and that's how she's certain it's him, her Bear.

It takes all of less than a minute for that certainty to waver.

And it's not because of the facial hair.

It's his eyes. They're devoid of anything, even color it appears. She's never seen Barry's normally vivid green eyes as empty as this. They've always looked legibly animated: ardent, awestruck, angry, afraid, affectionate. Now? It's like they're glass, and they're staring straight ahead, not at her.

Someone managed to get him into a T-shirt and sweatpants. Behind her, she hears Cecile mention offhandedly that he cooperated when they instructed him to dress, as though she felt she needed to explain why he wasn't naked anymore, but Iris doesn't care that Barry is clothed or bare or bearded or whatever.

Iris cares that Barry hasn't reacted to her presence yet, or anyone else's for that matter.

"Barry," Iris repeats, louder this time.

It's as if no one else is in the room with him. Barry doesn't even seem to blink at the sound of his name, only continues his haunted gaze forward.

"What's wrong with him?" Cisco's concern mirrors Iris's and vocalizes what everyone else in the room is likely too afraid to ask.

There's a hesitation before Cecile responds. "We're not sure."

Iris swallows. _Nothing is wrong with him,_ she tells herself. It can't be. He has to just be slightly shaken up after being away for so long. He's alive, she reminds herself. That's what matters.

"Barry," she tries again, certain that this time he'll snap out of his daze once she employs the entreaty that's brought him back before. Her voice nearly breaks at the memory, at the grasp that he'll be okay once he hears it: "Barry, you're _hom_ e."

For the first time since Iris entered the room, Barry's head turns to acknowledge her. It worked-

He stands so abruptly and moves with such quick force that he's towering over her before she can process what happened.

"Woah!" Wally moves just as instantaneously to stand protectively at her side.

Once her cognizance is up-to-speed on what's ensued, Iris exchanges an incredulous look with her brother, as though they both can't believe he's reacted to protect Iris from Barry of all people.

Wally shifts his gaze from hers and she sees his eyes widen in shock the moment they settle on Barry.

"What the-"

She follows his gaze to find Barry's eyes animated at last, only they shine with a red glimmer. He looks menacing, like he's staring at his greatest enemy, not at the people who love him.

"That…didn't happen when we tried to interrogate him," Cecile notes cautiously. "Does this have to do with-the Speed Force?" she questions.

No one has an answer for her. No one knows what to do but watch Barry as his eyes gleam. Suddenly, Barry shakes his head eccentrically and rubs his eyes. When his hands fall, his pupils are lifeless again. He turns back to the cot mutely and sits down, his legs dangling off the edge, as if nothing had just happened.

Finally, Cecile breaks the silence that follows.

"Joe, Iris." She gestures for them to follow her outside into her office, closing the door behind them.

She pauses, as though she's thinking of what to say, before taking a deep breath, bringing her palms together.

"I think we should keep him at the precinct for a while," she states simply.

Iris steps forward to object before her father can agree.

"Barry is coming home with me," she announces.

"Iris-"

"Look, I know he's not acting like himself," she continues. "But he's been trapped for six months in what had to be hell for him to be so disconnected from all of us. Taking him somewhere familiar could help."

"I don't disagree with you," Joe replies, to her surprise, as well as Cecile's.

"But," he adds. "I don't think you should be alone with him, Iris. We can take him back to STAR Labs, or even our house-"

"Or we can keep him in police custody and have physicians and metal health professionals evaluate him before we release him to the public," Cecile interrupts.

Rage swells inside Iris at this. "Excuse me," she objects. "Are you suggesting Barry is some kind of threat? Like he's a criminal?"

"I wasn't suggesting that at all-" Cecile tries to defend herself.

"I'll remind you that the man sitting on that bed is The Flash," Iris carries on. "He's a hero. He saved all of us, including you."

"Iris," Joe warns.

Cecile tries again: "I get how you must be feeling-"

"No you don't!" Iris exclaims, and Cecile actually jolts.

"You don't get it, Cecile. Hours ago, I thought my fiancé was as good as dead and now he's back, clearly confused or traumatized. I don't want to subject him to more stress or to scrutiny from people who don't know who he really is or where he was. What's going to happen if he has an episode like he just did now in front of an examiner? How will it change Barry's life if word gets out that he's a speedster? If the public suspects he could be The Flash?"

Truth be told, Iris wasn't even considering those latter points. Her primary concern had been protecting Barry from further burden while he was in such a delicate, and potentially volatile mental state.

She feels guilty at having blown up at Cecile however, who she knows has good intentions.

Iris softens. "I know you just want to help," she consoles. "But I think keeping him here under constant supervision and inspection will do more harm, not to mention put him at risk of discovery and then possible surveillance for the rest of his life. Please. Let me take him home."

Cecile exhales, glancing at Joe purposefully. "You'll be careful? And let us know if there's any trouble?"

"Promise," Iris swears.

"Alright then," Cecile concedes. "I can't keep him here legally if he's done nothing wrong. I'll just need you to sign some papers that he's going back with you, Iris."

"Ah," Joe protests. "Going back with _us._ " But Iris holds up a hand.

"No, Dad," she asserts. "I'm taking him to our loft."

Joe sighs. "Baby-"

"I am going to try to get through to him by myself," she affirms. "I've done it before, and I can do it again. We'll take him to STAR Labs so that Caitlin and Cisco can run some tests on him just to be safe, but he's sleeping at our place tonight, and every night after that."

She can tell her father is still dubious. He fixes her with a look that's a combination of sorrow and admiration.

"If anything happens-"

"I'll call you," Iris finishes.

"Iris, I'm serious," Joe urges. "He may look like him, but I don't think the Barry who came out of the Speed Force is the same as the one who went in it six months ago. Just…keep an eye out. Trust your gut, Baby Girl."

At that, Iris can't suppress a smile, despite the gravity of the situation. "You taught me how."


	4. Chapter 4

For the first time in six months, Iris enters her home with Barry without feeling severe heartache. Her heart is still heavy, and she doesn't think it'll be completely healed until he recognizes her, but some of the pain is alleviated because he stands at her side.

Her father felt better about the decision to let Barry go back to their apartment with her after their time in STAR Labs. His laboratory and imaging test results were unremarkable. Caitlin deemed his condition stable and normal. He had even listened to all their instructions and orders, despite not articulating a single word or displaying any sort of affect besides aloof.

The mysterious, ominous red fire in his eyes didn't make another appearance, and maybe that's the real reason Iris's heart feels lighter.

"Welcome home, Bear," Iris enthuses warmly, her heart constricting with affection.

Barry follows her into their bedroom, eyeing his surroundings. His gaze settles on the bed.

"I'm guessing you missed sleeping on a mattress?" Iris offers with a cautious smile, tilting her chin towards the bed. He still won't talk, but he seems to have started detecting when others address him. In this instance, he actually walks over to the bed, and Iris takes it to mean he's also understanding the content of their speech.

Iris breathes a soft sigh of relief. She feels comfortable enough to leave him alone to take a brief shower. To capture his attention, which is still occupied by the bed, she walks over to him.

"I'll be right back," she voices. "Can you wait for me over here?"

After a brief hesitation, Barry cautiously seats himself on the bed. She might imagine it, but she thinks he nods understandingly. Even if it's that slight of an acknowledgment, the progress in communication is consolation, enough for her to make her next move, even if isn't the wisest. She bends over and brushes her lips gingerly against his.

It's the first kiss they've shared since his reappearance, essentially their first kiss in months since their passionate goodbye. At that reflection, it takes all of Iris's willpower not to escalate it, but it's sufficient for her-for now at least. As for Barry, he tenses, but doesn't react otherwise, which she's mildly grateful for at the moment. She doesn't need a surprise when her current goal is to get into the shower easily. When she pulls away though, his eyes are closed. They flutter open once again, flicker toward her lips, before rebounding back to her eyes. Before she's tempted any further, she hurriedly strides to the bathroom. Even with her back turned, she's well aware that Barry's gaze is on her the entire time.

For a second she considers calling Wally or her father, but decides against it. Maybe there's some risk in leaving Barry alone, but a quick shower should be possible. She'll be in and out before he knows it. Despite this attempt at self-assurance, she leaves the bathroom door ajar for her own peace of mind.

While she waits for her bathwater to heat up, she strips her clothes off gingerly, feeling shame at her opting to do so in the privacy of the bathroom, away from Barry. She can't shake off or really fathom the pang of guilt as she stares at her bared skin in the mirror. She shouldn't perceive Barry in this way. He's Barry, her fiancé, and even if she weren't engaged to him, she knows there's no one else in her life she's ever trusted as much as she does him. She shouldn't shy away from him as though he's a stranger, and yet in some ways, it feels like he is.

Perhaps she's being unfair, or even worse, hypocritical. How was the Barry waiting outside in their bed any different from the Barry who lost his memory earlier this year? Hadn't she argued with her father how that was still Barry, despite his amnesia? Hadn't she taken him back to this very loft and let him kiss her, even if he barely knew anything about her? Was she really going to accept a Barry she didn't recognize only when he was blissfully free of stress and consequently cheerful, and not one traumatized to the degree of detachment? The ring she accepted from him meant she was ready to commit to Barry no matter what, that she was ready to stand by his side, that she was ready to give herself to him, just like he did in the months she thought were her last.

She's too lost in her thoughts that she must not have heard him entering the bathroom, but suddenly Barry's standing behind her reflection and she gasps, startled.

"Barry!" She whips around, and is a little relieved that, in the throes of her shock, she didn't rush to cover her exposed figure from him. Maybe he doesn't seem like a stranger after all. She relaxes at this recognition.

"What's the matter, Bear?" She's simply unable to quell any tender concern she experiences when it comes to him.

He doesn't respond, but he does eye her body, which pleases her, not perversely, but reassuringly, because it's the most Barry-like behavior she's witnessed since his return, and she chooses to believe that it's a step toward getting him back to his old self. She watches his gaze as he takes her in, from her eyes to her lips to her chest to her calves. Oddly enough, considering her prior fears, she doesn't feel violated or vulnerable, which comes as another relief to her.

When his eyes meet hers again, he reaches beneath the hem of his shirt. She's surprised when he tugs it over his head and lets it fall softly to the floor.

"Do you want to shower too?" she offers cheekily, feeling better enough to flirt, but also attempting to lighten the peculiar tension between them. His only comeback is to push his pants off too. Soon he's standing opposite her, as naked as she is.

Iris can't question this unusual twist in events, because she's too preoccupied with his physique. It's changed markedly since the last time she saw it, which was the night they made love before Savitar kidnapped her. The most obvious difference is the aggregate of hair covering his skin. She supposes that explains his heavy beard, but Barry's always been one to routinely groom himself. The hair splayed across his chest is coarse in a way he's never allowed it to grow before, leading to the black trail of hair along his navel. More striking is the depth of hair at the end of the trail, the wild tangle over his groin. The hair outlining his legs is also thicker, lending a more frail appearance to his calves. Underneath all his dark fringe, he seems paler, especially beneath the bathroom light.

It doesn't really move her in any particular way, to see his body like this. All it really does is make her wonder what exactly happened during those six months, makes her question what the nature of the Speed Force really is, a mystery she's found intriguing ever since Barry's first journey into it. Every time he escapes from it, he's a changed man, and she can't quite pinpoint why that is or what he could have gone through to elicit such transformation, especially one as drastic as this. The only common factor is the role she's always played in bringing him back home.

There would be a time for questions later, she concludes, as she often has to when she's investigating a case and needs to discern the appropriateness and strategy behind query. Her first priority is returning Barry to a state of normalcy where he could answer those questions.

Iris feels impolite, as though she's been staring at him for too long. She doesn't want him to assume she's horrified or shocked by his body, because she isn't. As far as she's concerned, Barry's form looks its best when it's right in front of her, when she can easily reach over, touch him-

It starts to overwhelm her how much time has passed since she felt his skin beneath her fingertips. She isn't the slightest bit ashamed at how much the sight of his bared body fills her with that kind of longing she thought she'd never experience again.

She reaches her hand out, waits for the possibility of him reeling away-only he doesn't. It feels like her arm stretches for an eternity, and she's glad it does, because she decides midway through her route to his skin that it's safer to touch his face than anywhere else currently. Perhaps they aren't ready for that kind of contact just yet. Her palm settling on his left cheek is enough to appease her though: she'll take touching any part of him over having to endure the possibility of never touching him again.

There's no telling how long the two of them stand naked together in the bathroom with Barry's face in Iris's hands. She's taken to stroking his beard, running her fingers through the rough hair that contours his jaw.

"I don't think I've seen you with facial hair like this since that one year," she chuckles softy, recalling Barry as a junior in college who experimented with his grooming routine (or lack thereof). She remembers how, at age twenty-one, he had finally grown tired of looking younger than his age and being mistaken for a teenager, most embarrassingly so when he was finally old enough to actually produce valid identification at bars. He had resolved to grow a beard, believing it would help him appear older. Unfortunately, no matter what he did, he struggled with getting it to look anything other than disheveled, and Joe and Iris had laughed him into shaving it off for good.

She stops caressing his beard and waits for him to meet her gaze, her hands still on either one of his cheeks.

"How about we rid you of this mane and get you looking back to normal, Handsome?" she probes gently. "I want to see more of your face, not less of it." The cheerfulness in her tone is tentative, but the sentiment expressed is still genuine.

Barry lets her take his hand and lead him to sit down on the ledge of the bathtub. He watches her passively as she rummages through the medicine cabinet to locate a clean disposable razor and his bottle of shaving cream. She couldn't bring herself to toss any of his toiletries when he was gone, even though she remembers wincing in pain every time she saw his toothbrush or his hair gel. His clothes and most of his other belongings were more easily avoidable, but their loft had this single bathroom they shared, so she had to endure the reminder that he was gone every morning she woke up and every night before she went to sleep.

In any case, she's relieved that she didn't throw anything out, otherwise she wouldn't be seated on the closed lid of the toilet, lathering smooth, white foam over his chin and cheeks presently. The familiar eucalyptus scent elicits palpable, pleasant memories. Like when she would poke fun at him for taking too long in the bathroom on occasional mornings.

 _"_ I think you've given me the headline for my next piece," she recalls teasing him once. " _Breaking News: The Fastest Man Alive is Actually Quite Slow in the Bathroom. You Won't Believe How Slow, an insider reports."_

He had tackled her to the mattress in retaliation, and she had shrieked in surprise, but laughed all the same as he kissed her anywhere he could reach, reveling in the the silk of his skin post-shave, catching a whiff of eucalyptus with each press of his lips…

Iris takes a deep breath and balances the handle of the razor between her thumb and index finger before steadying the head against his face. Barry still hasn't uttered a word, only watches her intently. She does her best to ignore the potency of his stare, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. Carefully, she sweeps the razor over his hair in gentle, calculated movements.

The air around them is so static and silent that she can hear the slight scratch of the blade against his skin. She works leisurely, gradually making her way down his right cheek first, eventually crossing his chin over to his left jaw. With each scrape, he looks more and more like her Barry, and she feels more and more at ease.

That is until she accidentally nicks him. She doesn't realize it until she's rinsing the clogged blade of hairs and notices a red tint to the water. Sure enough, there's a tiny cut above his lip where she's been shedding him of his mustache.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, truly feeling so. Barry doesn't so much as flinch to what she's certain must sting at least. She rips off a wad of toilet paper only to halt before pressing it to the wound. Slowly, as though it were being erased, the cut vanishes, leaving behind even, polished skin.

Something about the witnessing the wound's seeming evaporation does Iris in. Of course his flesh is still capable of immediate healing due to his rapid levels of cellular regeneration. His speed hasn't disappeared, she reminds herself, so why would his other abilities?

What does her in is the grasp that all these extraordinary faculties the Speed Force coursing through his blood afford him still weren't enough to protect him from whatever hell he suffered, if he's come back like this. They aren't enough to snap him out of whatever stupor he's in. They aren't enough for him to identify her as Iris. Did she think shaving his beard would mend everything? That he was going to glance at his reflection and remember who he was? She's powerful enough to pull him out of the Speed Force, but apparently too weak or insignificant to get him to be the Barry she knows and loves.

But…she still loves him, even in this state, and the mere consideration that she doesn't or could potentially be incapable of loving him anymore if he never gets better is what really does her in, and before she knows it, she's doubled over with sobs.

Because the torment of the present isn't enough, she's struck with the recollection of the last time she wept like this. It had been the first night after he left her. The ironic circle of events this turned into has her crying over Barry as though he's just been swallowed by the Speed Force while he sits right in front of her.

Her chest heaves frantically at the cruelty of it all. She's so consumed with emotion that it's some time before she takes heed of something soft coming into contact with her face, Astonished, she lifts her head: Barry's watching her with devoted eyes, concern glistening his pupils as he thumbs over where her tears fall. He looks like Barry- _her_ Barry-at last. She doesn't want to trust her instincts, but his eyes are finally alive in that way that's unique to when they absorb her. They don't look like this when it comes to anyone else, and that's how she knows he has to be recovering, has to be coming back to her.

"Barry," she inhales tentatively. Dare she believe? Dare she hope?

It seems like forever passes in deathly quiet until Barry's lips actually part, his palm still fixed to her jaw.

"Iris?"

She thinks she might have collapsed with elation had she been standing.

"Yes," she expels incredulously. Then louder, more urgently, "Yes!"

"Iris…" a second palm comes to her other cheek, now he's the one holding her face in his hands, tracing her features. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, yes!" She feels like she can't affirm it enough. "Barry, it's me! It's Iris. You're home, oh God- _you're home,_ Bear." Now she's crying for entirely different reasons.

Barry himself starts to tear up, his eyes shining with a despair that matches his tone.

"Please tell me it's really you this time," he begs, his tears spilling over. "Please tell me this isn't another illusion."

What to make of that, she doesn't know, but-investigative intuition and compassion-she does know it's not the time to probe. She thinks she might never even ask him what he means or care to, because this- _him_ -is all she cares about: that he's back, that he's holding her, that he's recognizing her.

She swallows and takes his face back between her palms, joins her forehead to his like they did after they kissed goodbye six months ago.

"This isn't an illusion," she promises fiercely. "This is real."

A cry echoes off the bathroom walls, and she isn't sure which one of them expels it, but it's swallowed by their lips colliding. The kiss is fervidly desperate, lacking any sense of composure. Iris can't tell whose mouth forces the other's lips open first, only that when Barry's tongue lands in between her lips, she's not letting him go. She sucks and sucks, drawing him deeper inside her until she's forced to release him for air. Even then, they keep their foreheads, noses, chests, every inch of skin as pressed together as possible while they both catch their breath. Their respirations are discordant in that every exhalation he makes she inhales and vice versa. They exchange breath like this for a while, Barry closing his eyes, swallowing her pants and she in turn drinking what he expires, reveling in his essence.

When their gasping is tamer, Barry opens his eyes. He's so close to her that his lashes brush against her skin as he does.

"Iris," he whispers, bringing his palms to her bare back to pull her even closer somehow. She feels small in his arms. His eyes well earnestly once again. "Can I taste you?"

His request provokes the pulse between her legs. Iris is flushed and dizzy all of a sudden, and maybe she isn't thinking clearly because all her blood is heading south, but right now, after months of headache and heartache, longing takes precedence over logic.

She finds herself standing, stepping closer to him until her pelvis is level with his face. So that Barry understands she wants this, she parts her own flesh with her fingers, noticing she's already trickling lightly. She stares down at him, feeling a bit faint in anticipation of his touch, but also roused and exhilarated for the first time in far far too long.

She only realizes just how long the instant Barry's mouth is on her.

He closes his eyes and kisses her mound so gingerly she can hear the wet smack of his lips despite the blood ringing in her ears. He nudges further down her skin, breathing her aroma in deeply before lapping his tongue delicately against her. Like a reflex, her jaw drops and her palm anchors his head below her navel. Barry licks her more vigorously, and she revels not only in the thrill of his ministrations, but in the picture of him moving under her, his neck bowed, his eyes squeezed shut in indulgence while his tongue glides over her slick folds. Now free of hair, his skin feels like velvet grazing her inner thighs which she squeezes around him as yet another attempt to fasten him to her.

This feels sweeter than all those times she tried to satiate herself with her own hands during his absence. She wonders how she survived without the fulfillment his body provided her. Nothing could ever be a substitute for Barry, she vehemently decides as one particular swipe of his tongue propels her hips forward involuntarily. Nothing and no one could replace his vicinity, his flesh, his lips.

When she thinks she can't possibly last for much longer before convulsing, his lips enclose her tightened clit. Instead of suckling like she expects, she senses gentle, soothing vibrations quake through her. It feels all too much like what she felt their final night together before her anticipated death, when Barry had buried his face in her cunt and "thrummed" against her, their unique term for the cross between a throb and hum that he had taken to using his speed for sometimes when they made love, until she would twitch with ecstasy.

She cries out in gratitude at being under his powers now, at being touched in that right place, because it's evidence of Barry truly being back in flesh, mind, soul, and spirit. Surely it had to be for him to remember just where to touch her and how to taste her. The memory of that night that she believed would be her last with Barry, of Barry letting go of her hand to enter where she couldn't follow, of the six months of torture that succeeded where she didn't know if she would ever see him again strikes her, pains her, heightens her need to be fulfilled presently.

At this point, her head is tilted back straining her neck, and her lips are open and overturned in the agony of awaiting release. Growing restless, she perches an ankle against the ledge of the tub, hoping the stretch of her leg will bring her closer to climax. It shouldn't take much longer, with her flesh tautened and Barry's mouth secured to her, still inducing tremors inside her. She's almost there, she's almost there, almost-

Barry breaks from her grip on him and jerks away violently.

She can't even whine in protest because she's overcome with the shock of what just ensued. Barry as she knows him would never do what he just did, would never subject her to excruciating torment, would never tempt her only to neglect her.

And she's right, because Barry is no longer Barry as she knows him, despite being so mere seconds ago. His eyes flash dangerously like they did in the precinct, his brows furrowed, his mouth tight, his jaw set. She can't read the expression on his face, can only discern that he's slipped back into his trance.

"No," she breathes. "No, Barry, no. Come back to me."

She falls to her knees in front of him, seizing his face in her hands.

"Barry," she beseeches. "It's Iris. Please, _please_ come back to me. Come _home_ to me."

He's shaking, red still flickering in his eyes. Wordlessly, he pulls away from her grip and stands to leave. He ignores Iris, passes the toilet, the sink, their deposited clothes on the floor, and exits the bathroom. She turns to see where he's headed, and from where she sits on the bathroom rug, can just make out him pulling back the covers to climb into their bed, still naked, his bare back turned to her.

It's as if their encounter just now never happened, as if she weren't just under his tongue, as if she means nothing to him. Even though he recognized her temporarily, it feels worse than if he had never recognized her at all. Iris finds herself weeping for the second time that night, only now she rocks back and forth quietly while tears roll down her face. It's almost like she lost him all over again.

Who can she confide in about what just occurred? Cisco? Her brother? Her father? How can she explain that Barry became himself again for all of half an hour, and how can she disclose that their first urge was to touch each other like they did? It's not that she feels ashamed, and she knows anyone in her position might have done the same, but it feels too intimate and private to divulge. No, she doesn't want to explain that her fiancé recognized her enough to ignite her before abandoning her without putting the flames out. She doesn't expect anyone to be able to empathize with her, no matter how much they care for her or for Barry. Once again, she feels completely and utterly alone.

When she thinks she's cried all the tears she can produce, she slowly rises from the floor, aloof and numb. It's then that she feels the unfulfilled ache deep within her that Barry had relinquished. It's heavier when she stands up, and throbs with every step she takes. She makes her way to the bathtub, her initial destination before Barry's interruption and she climbs in, leaning back until her spine hits the frigid tile, her hair splayed out above her. She switches the water on with her foot, and spreads her legs on either side of the faucet shutting her eyelids. The stream cascades between her slack thighs, striking right where his lips had been.


End file.
